


Dying Laughter

by khvd



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gore, M/M, Mental Anguish, POV Alternating, Psychological Trauma, Romance, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23206966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khvd/pseuds/khvd
Summary: Theseus and Asterius find themselves badly injured and separated after their latest brush with the underworld prince Zagreus, revealing more about both man and minotaur as they are left to pick up the pieces of a battle hard fought.
Relationships: Asterius | The Minotaur/Theseus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 57





	1. An End to Summer

_**Another day, another battle...** _

They say his spirit never broke, and that a much adored smile never left his face. Of his companion, they say his strength crushed skulls both underfoot and in hand with an unmatched brutality. And together, both man and bull were far elevated above even the heroic inhabitants of their realm. They resided in the rolling, verdant plains of Elysium - an eternal paradise for the bravest and most noble souls. Even amongst such company, their reputation preceded them. Almost as if they were bound together at the hip, the inseparable duo of both the legendary King Theseus and the much-feared, hulking Bull of Minos elicited feelings of adoration and aversion amongst their fellow shades, respectively. No matter where they travelled within the hallowed halls and consecrated chambers of the Elysian domain, the eyes of countless undead followed. How many summer days had they spent together, under this endless, cerulean sun? Just how many battles had they both thrown themselves into, the intense fracas of each battle only surpassed by the raucous applause of their undying audience? For the proud Athenian king, it seemed as if this was his final reward for heroic deeds long since committed to the pages of history. The man seemed as naturally inclined to the adoration of the crowd as his companion was to brute strength and ferocity. A maddening smile had never left his sun-kissed face, not in life and certainly not now, long after his departure from the mortal world. His voice radiated out through the luxurious, lifeless chambers of the underworld as clear as day, overflowing with an unshakeable conviction befitting of the Athenian king.

"Asterius!" Theseus bellowed, twirling his spear in hand as he readied his marvellously polished shield. "Let us vanquish this fiend and send him screaming back into the hellish pits from whence he came!"

"Let us crush the life from him together, my king," Asterius replied, stomping his hefty feet on the solid flagstones which made up the floor of the immense chamber they found themselves in. A surface that was inordinately glamorous, intricately patterned, and unmistakably well worn by the passage of time, showing the wear and tear of many a fierce battle. This renowned fighting arena deep inside Elysium was now packed to the point of bursting with spectating shades, clamouring from the overflowing stands which themselves were elevated above the ornately decorated walls that encased the cavernous room from top to bottom.

Across from the two champions of Elysium stands the errant underworld prince himself, Zagreus. This was not the first time the pair had faced off against him, in this same hall. And they both suspected it would not be the last. The prince sighed. 

"You two again. I don't suppose you could let me past? We really don't need to do this every time, you know." Zagreus frowned and pointed a disdainful finger at Theseus. "And surely you would rather not be defeated in front of all these lovely spectators?" 

Theseus, although impressively built, was yet notably small in stature as he stood across from the Bull of Minos. He scoffed dismissively and raised his voice to an even higher volume as he ensured his boastful reply was heard over the cheering crowd. "Surely you jest, fiend! You have fallen to our combined might every single time you have stepped foot within our domain, and yet you speak to me of defeat?" He turned to Asterius and winked, then directed his confident, beaming smile back towards Zagreus. "Come forth and be eradicated, daemon! By my honour and the gods, I shall strike you down, here and now!"

Prince Zagreus hesitated only briefly before drawing his weapon, the blade of the underworld itself. The Stygian Blade retained a distinctly unpleasant, dark aura even here in Elysium. No amount of artificial sunlight could dampen the scarlet blade's fiery ferocity, unsheathed as it now was within the final, most important chamber of Elysium. As he readied his blade, time seemed to slow down for all those within the arena. Both Theseus and Asterius savoured these precious moments leading up to a fight, although it must be said that the human king displayed much more pleasure in the whole ordeal than perhaps even the enraptured audience which cheered them on without abandon. While the eyes of Theseus remained firmly locked upon his target as his body began to tense imperceptibly in preparation for what was about to happen, the same was not true of his bull-headed companion. Had the underworld prince not himself been stubbornly focused on defiantly meeting Theseus' gaze, he would have noticed that the minotaur's eyes were furtively gazing at his fellow champion. And had the underworld prince somehow found himself face-to-face with the Bull of Minos in this very moment, he might well have sensed that the fire in the beast's eyes had nothing at all to do with the impending battle, but rather revealed a writhing, tortured yearning. Despite his unerringly servile and simple outward appearance, it was during times like this that those deeply set, sad eyes would betray feelings that were distinctly complicated.

And just like that, it was over. The first strike of the battle rang out in a shrill metallic tone as the Stygian Blade carved through the dead air of the arena and clashed with Asterius' greataxe, sending fleeting sparks flying as the minotaur took it in his stride. Despite his thickset and towering body, he was surprisingly fast - a fact which the underworld prince knew all too well. Asterius showed no hesitation as he surged forward, backing the errant son of Hades up towards the bejewelled boundaries of the arena. The minotaur swung his greataxe in a wide, intimidating arc in front of him, his monstrously dense torso suddenly becoming taut as he stopped the momentum of the axe midair to swing once more in the opposite direction, this time eliciting an immediate backward dash from the prince. Theseus grinned as he saw his opportunity to once again skewer the upstart prince with his spear.

"Catch this, you monster!" Asterius exclaimed as he sent his spear soaring through the air en route to skewer its target, eliciting an emphatic wave of applause from the audience. His throwing form was just as finely polished as the shield he bore and his sculpted body had uncoiled in one smooth motion as he tossed the devilishly sharp spear through the air. Of course, the former king of Athens knew well that his graceful athleticism and handsome appearance were both popular with the crowds, and so did not hesitate to once again raise his voice and boast loudly even as the spear hurtling through the air was narrowly slipped by Prince Zagreus. "Die!" the king yelled, a gleeful smile fully displayed at the prospect of such a resounding victory for the two champions. The smile he flashed towards the crowd was the smile of a man who had been born with both an innate talent for all physical pursuits and the full knowledge he possessed such an enviable gift.

"Come, short one," growled the Bull of Minos. "You will not defeat either the king or I by retreating. Stand and fight." Asterius lifted his great axe above his head as if it had weighed nothing all along, and leapt into the air with such force that the ground his thick, stout legs had launched from was left permanently deformed. The retreating Zagreus could not possibly manage to dodge the attack before the bull-headed beast brought the axe down with every ounce of his inhuman strength. Perhaps then, it was unfortunate that Prince Zagreus had no such plans.

The minotaur finally brought down the massive axe from above his head, throwing his airborne mass behind it as both he and the axe impacted the ground. The sheer, sharp concussive force generated an immediate shockwave, sending a disorienting jolt up his densely muscled arms and making even his teeth rattle within the bull's clenched jaw. His eyes narrowed in a momentary confusion as he saw that the axe blade had thoroughly embedded itself deep within the floor of the arena, cleaving an unfortunately placed engraving in two, irreparably damaged. So devastating was the impact of the minotaur's vicious attack, and so deafening was the applause from the crowd, that Asterius failed to hear the underworld prince let out a impetuous roar beneath him. He looked down only in time to see Zagreus swing the Stygian Blade with all his might, torquing his much smaller and comparatively frail body into a explosive rotation of both his legs and torso as his arms then followed, bringing the Stygian Blade down upon the shoulder of the beast. The cursed blade cleaved through Asterius' shoulder like a hot knife through butter, leaving him physically unable to once again lift that monstrously heavy axe.

"Asterius!?" Theseus cried out, his voice betraying his disbelief as he watched his enormous companion fall. The king immediately attempted to recall his spear, outstretching his arm in preparation to snatch it out of the air as he broke into a powerful sprint from the centre of the arena to aid his friend.

The bull roared and sank to his knees, clutching on to the cold metal grip of the greataxe now immovably wedged within the arena's grand flagstones. He raised his horned head to look up at the formerly diminutive underworld prince, both man and bull now brought to an equal stature. Asterius now saw for the first time a dogged determination and a deeper, incendiary anger towards the champions blocking his path in those mismatched, bastard eyes. The Bull of Minos snorted derisively as Prince Zagreus once again raised the point of his blade. It seemed as if the room was moving on its own, and Asterius began to wonder why his body felt so heavy. To his distant right, he could hear Theseus cry his name and knew that soon his king would be by his side. He just needed to get up again and lift the axe once more. In his rapidly decreasing vision, he saw the son of Hades deftly turn and slash at something flying through the air, sending it clattering to the ground and sliding to an abrupt stop behind one of the monolithic pillars that encircled the interior of the chamber. Zagreus now turned to face him once more, and showed no hesitation as he violently thrust his sword into the minotaur's chest. The bull roared yet again as the prince drove the Stygian Blade through his torso completely, only stopping once the finely crafted hilt itself slammed resoundingly into his thick, rough skin. 

Theseus ran, his well-trained legs carrying him faster than they ever had before towards his friend. But the arena seemed impossibly large as he tried to close the distance between him and the two other combatants. While his coveted position at the centre of the arena suited his vanity and appeals to the crowd during combat, he was now helpless to do anything but watch as his spear was intercepted midair by the underworld prince, leaving the human king armed with only his shield. Just as he reached his top speed, raising his shield as he prepared to charge into the son of Hades with all his might, his eyes suddenly widened as he witnessed his bull-headed companion be brutally impaled on the accursed blade wielded by Prince Zagreus, who then turned again to face Theseus, glaring at the king as he smirked and clutched at a peculiar doll nestled within his tunic before glancing upwards.

"Than! Help me?" Prince Zagreus yelled, seemingly at the ceiling above.

The champion of Elysium was momentarily taken aback in confusion, following the prince's gaze upwards as he slowly resumed running straight towards Zagreus. There was nothing there, of course. Just more ornate stonework and empty space. Only a short distance away now from the prince, Theseus smirked and braced his body for impact, preparing to knock the impudent brat off his feet and crush him beneath his shield. Yet as he finally drew near, the king realised something was horribly, horribly wrong. Whereas just a split second ago he had felt the air within the chamber rushing past him, he could now only feel a cold, crawling sensation on his skin, as if the grasping tendrils of some cruel betentacled god had draped themselves around him from head to toe. Before he could react, an ominous bell rang out from what seemed to be nowhere, reverberating throughout the entire arena. Theseus skidded to a halt just barely in time to avoid what came next. A massive, circular void opened up to fill the space between him and the underworld prince, who was now turning back towards Asterius, dismissing Theseus completely. Enraged, the king of Athens reacted without thinking and strode into the void, planning to take the monster in front of him head on. The edge of the void was surrounded by incomprehensible luminescent runes, their glow bathing even the farthest corners of the room in a foreboding violet hue. As he stepped within the confines of the circle, they shifted colour and began to swim around him. The darkness in the centre of the void was impossibly, impenetrably dark. Even to Theseus, a man once entirely unfazed by the immense blackness of the labyrinth, the sight of it was enough to turn his stomach. Something was distinctly wrong with whatever now lay beneath his feet, and he felt an inexorable pull from far below to look down even further. 

Theseus instead took another step towards the epicentre, turning his gaze ever forward as a crazed smile began to eat away at the corners of his face. Just what foul dealings had that prince undertaken to gain this power? Certainly, whatever chthonic power lay beneath the surface seemed faintly familiar to him. He had felt a presence just like it somewhere before, during his days as a mortal man. Another step forward now, and he was still far from even the centre of the primordial dark that surrounded him entirely. Looking forward he could see both Asterius and Zagreus on the other side, directly in front of him. He just needed to pick his leg up and dash forward, and he could stop the prince here. But as he began to move forward, he entered yet another, even deeper threshold, causing a second pair of garbled, ancient runes to begin swimming to the surface. As he struggled to take even the two steps he needed to cross this second chthonic barrier, he could suddenly no longer see what lay on the other side of the void. A figure shrouded in darkness appeared from below, breaching that shadowy surface and taking its position in the epicentre to face the hero. As the ethereal dusk began to dissipate from around the figure, its true nature was revealed. From beneath its hood, a pair of tired yellow eyes fixed their disturbing gaze on Theseus. Both man and god stood completely still within the second threshold of the circular void as the figure began to speak, addressing Theseus.

"Remember me, O King?" Thanatos asked dryly as he regarded the champion of Elysium with a furrowed brow.

Now understanding the true nature of the chthonic trap he had walked into, Theseus smiled and taunted the god of Death. "Aha! Thanatos!" The king quickly glanced at the stands where once the crowds had been, and noted that even the shades had fled upon Thanatos' arrival. Disappointed that nobody would witness his next victory, he rested both hands on his hips and continued to address the chthonic god. "You've taken me once already, what have I to fear from you? And might I add that last time, you caught me at an inopportune moment. You will not do so again." He took another step forward, walking slowly towards Thanatos seemingly without concern as he yelled once more. "Now begone!"

Thanatos merely sighed and elegantly raised his long, well-balanced scythe as he held it behind his back. He watched the human king with an uncaring gaze as he made his way towards the centre of the void, clearly struggling to resist the pull of the abyssal plain directly beneath him. To the champion's credit, many a weaker man would find themselves already consumed or driven mad, Thanatos thought. He opened his lifeless lips to speak, but paused briefly to turn his head up and to the side, his eyes curiously regarding a nondescript corner of the arena's ceiling. Thanatos did not attempt to conceal the frown which he adopted as he stared off into the distance. Turning his gaze back to the king of Athens, he saw that Theseus was somehow now almost at the centre and finally Thanatos spoke out.

"You won't go any further, champion," announced Thanatos in a voice unaccustomed to long conversations. "Zag asked me to dispatch you, and so I will. Time to die, again."

Thanatos floated upwards and raised his scythe up high, his lithe figure lit by the ominous glow of the runes surrounding both him and Theseus. His cold eyes expressed no emotion as he brought the scythe down on Theseus, who planted his feet on the abyssal floor he stood on and raised his shield just in time to block the reaping motion of the long, slender blade in its tracks. That demented smile began to contort the edges of his visage once again as he stood valiantly, shield raised high. Theseus was not and had never been scared of Death, and he thought the other shades to be fools for fleeing the arena at the mere sight of Death himself.

The scythe wielded by Thanatos had claimed an unknowable amount of lives, and his attacks with it had become both graceful and deadly in equal measure. It was not a physical weapon as such - had a mortal somehow attempted to wield it, it would have fallen through their fingers and fell down into the abyssal underworld within which the chthonic gods resided. This fact was not known by Theseus, and thus his eyes betrayed his shock when the left arm that held his shield high in the air now fell limp on the ground, followed by a metallic crash as his shield hit the ground a split second later. A torrential spray of blood from the fresh wound above his elbow covered Theseus' lower half and turned into acrid smoke as it splattered onto the surface of the abyss. Theseus dropped to the ground on one knee as he cried out in agony, his body completely overwhelmed by the white-hot sensation of his severed limb. Thanatos, eyes wide in surprise, hesitated to follow up the attack. He glanced over behind him, where the victorious Zagreus was attempting to free his blade from the unmoving body of the bull, and looked back towards that far-off corner of the ceiling once again. He shook his head and turned his gaze back towards Theseus, just in time to see the human bearing down on him, his remaining arm firmly grasping his bloodied shield close to his body at an angle as he barged shoulder first into the god of Death.

"Die, you fucking monster!" yelled the champion, as he abandoned all attempts at both grace and finesse to throw his entire weight behind the point of his shield. As his charge passed through where Thanatos should have been, he felt no impact. Instead, he now felt an intolerable chill envelop his right side, and he fell through thin air to land defeated on the ground. The king of Athens was also vitally unaware of the fact that the god of Death possesses some small measure of control over both space and time, leaving in his wake a small piece of the substratal darkness he emerged from. This time, Theseus was not destined to arise again. As Theseus landed on the ground, a horrific scream filled the room, loud enough to elicit a singular hollow echo from every corner of the abandoned arena. Theseus now lay in an ever growing pool of his own blood, his right arm now remaining only as shattered, irregular chunks of frozen flesh and blood underneath him, slowly oozing as his own body heat gradually began to thaw them. The void began to grow smaller and smaller, the luminous, ancient runes flickering and eventually dissipating as the companion keepsake's power rapidly waned. The chthonic trap had only lasted for a short time, and now it was disappearing, taking Thanatos with it even as he readied his scythe to finish the maimed champion. The sight of Theseus now laying on the floor within the arena was swiftly avoided by Zagreus, as the underworld prince hurriedly moved onwards to the next chamber, and to the surface. The prince could not afford to stop, and especially not to mourn those he had vanquished on his way. His focus had to be absolute if he was to make it to the surface above.

Empty of all spectators, and populated only by the two bodies of the champions, the arena within Elysium now seemed completely devoid of even the shallow imitation of life which it offered. Down in the underworld, the dead air did not move. It simply remained stagnant, either imparting an unpleasantly oppressive humid warmth, or a permeating chill that lingered far too long. Currently, king Theseus lay catatonic, what little warmth remaining in his crippled body being cruelly sapped from him by the cold flagstones of this vacant space. Had they ever felt so cold before to the champion? Why had the river Styx not swelled around his frozen feet to pull him beneath her blood-drenched currents? He pondered this as he remained fetal, even the excruciating pain of losing both his arms now being taken away by this cruel realm. He had himself yet to perish in this place, but he had sent many a former hero to be washed up along that sanguine stream. And not once had he imparted such vicious injuries upon another denizen of the underworld as had just been inflicted upon him. Frankly, he had not thought it possible. The crowds cheered his and Asterius' skilful but ultimately immaterial conquests, the deep cuts and stab wounds they would have inflicted rendered non-existent in this bizarrely immaterial world. Upon a shade's death, they simply fell as they were into the ever present clutches of the river Styx, no matter where they were within the underworld. This chamber within Elysium had perhaps seen more shades claimed by her bloodstained hand than any other within Elysium, or perhaps the underworld in its entirety. Could he have been granted another mortal life here, in this infernal domain? If that was truly the case, how tragically comedic that it had ended in such a fashion. 

Theseus had truthfully not seen much of his own blood. He had primarily suffered shallow cuts along his clean shaven, proud jawline in pursuit of his own personal vanity. But now the blood leaving his body seeped into every minute crack of the ancient floor of the arena, coursing steadily through the engraved patterns and imparting a deep crimson stain to each one. He could be content with this death, he supposed. Maybe he was needed in a realm other than this one, to render his heroic deeds again side by side with Asterius. A pained, hoarse laugh echoed out in the chamber as he entertained the idea, causing him to briefly aspirate his own blood as he coughed and spluttered in a grand, growing pool of gore. But between his fading life, his subsequent acceptance of that fact, and his laughter in the face of it all, he was fooling himself. He had felt the boreal chill of that realm underneath Thanatos and feared it alone moreso than anything. It had not hungered after him as once death had, but rather lay in wait - knowing that all things would eventually begin to slip and be consumed, scattered into a nothingness that was devoid of any comprehensible higher meaning.

He couldn't die yet. Not again. He had to find Asterius. Where was that strapping bull when you needed him? They needed to reconvene, to get back on their feet. The river Styx would come for them soon and they could begin again. But he had to find him first. Where was he? Theseus lifted his head, his normally immaculate blond hair now matted with blood, clinging to his marred face. He tried to roll onto his stomach and raise his head, moaning as the last remnants of the pain left in his brutalised body tried to stop him. His vision went white as his body shifted, slipping on what few chunks of bloodied ice remained beneath him. After several failed attempts, each only incrementally less pitiful than the last, he willed his body to move and lifted his head upwards in search of his friend. He coughed again, inhaling more blood that clung to the insides of his already compromised lungs. Now he barely possessed the strength to lift his head clear of the blood. As he looked over and made out the deathly still body of his massive companion, he felt a sudden surge of emotion. Tears immediately welled up in the corners of his eyes, and he roared out in more pain than he had ever displayed thus far. The primal sound of an unbearable, heart-rending pain forcing its way out of a broken man echoed throughout the arena.

"Asterius!" he cried desperately as he continued to choke on his own blood. He craned his neck to again look at where his friend's body was. "Gods . . . don't let it end like this," he pleaded. 

Had he still been able to, he would have slammed his fist down on that unfeeling stone floor and began crawling his way towards the minotaur's body. Even if he died by the time he'd dragged himself and his maimed body to Asterius, he wanted to die over there. Not here. In this cold median. He wanted to feel something real before he died here, in this numb, dead world. As it was, his vision began to flicker and fade into a terrifyingly pure snow-white blizzard, and the cold kept taking pieces of him away. Asterius' dark, distant body was slowly swallowed whole by the white nothingness. Bloodied, cracked lips parted to utter a final appeal as their owner grew cold.

"Please . . . don't leave . . . Asterius," whispered the fallen king, his voice ragged and broken.

The last sensation he remembered before the pale consumed him was the dying warmth of tears drying on his skin.

_**Another time, another chamber....** _

Their battles in the afterlife had made them even more legendary figures than before. Together, they were stronger than any legion of formerly heroic shades and they steadily vanquished their opponents, one by one. Or in some much exaggerated cases, several hundreds or thousands at once. Truthfully, Asterius would likely not have spent his afterlife embroiled in such conflict was it not for the wilful pride of the man he devoted himself to. Despite his better instincts, he followed the human king into each and every battle without question. Each time he would contemplate the ultimate futility of dispatching fellow underworld denizens who had been long dead, he only needed to look over his shoulder and see the blissful, unapologetic joy displayed on his king's face as he battled valiantly onwards. And yet, he had never seen Theseus return his longing gaze. Theseus' eyes remained unerringly fixated on what lay ahead of the pair of warriors. The next battle, the next duel. Another hollow conquest. Was there anything else the king desired? Asterius did not have the courage to ask. The words staunchly refused to leave his throat, even as the untenable longing overtook his whole being. Perhaps without realising, Asterius had resigned himself to a life of despaired yearning at his side, his inhuman hands outstretched longingly for something just within his grasp. Why could he not close the leagues of distance between himself and the king he adored? Were they simply too different from one another despite all their shared hardship? Could the beautiful bright azure eyes of his king ever truly look upon his beastly form and see in him more than a close companion?

The unanswered longing he felt only made the Bull of Minos fight with renewed ferocity by Theseus' side, taking out his burgeoning despair and all-consuming anger towards the Fates on whichever undead shades who had either the misplaced confidence or the poor fortune to find themselves in the pair's way. No matter the odds and no matter the opposition, the pair only had to retreat and fall back on one another to win the day. Both the deadly accuracy of Theseus' spear and the crushing weight of Asterius' greataxe carved through shade after heroic shade, the two of them holding nothing back. As long as they kept fighting together, Asterius could always see that radiant, happy expression, that devilish smile. His king would never tire, and would never lose as long as he had his most loyal companion by his side. Their success and renown within Elysium grew beyond measure, and Asterius further accepted his resignation. This afterlife, spent in in a delirious cycle of never-ending battle and victory. But something else began to grow within Asterius. A vast emptiness, a void where once he had felt elation and glee. His arms no longer tired no matter how hard and how much he swung his hefty axe, but he began to tire nonetheless. A deep, numbing fatigue set in. Even the laughter and relentlessly upbeat voice of his king became drowned out by the now almost unbearably loud, deafening applause. After one such battle, the Bull of Minos found himself looking up at the proud king, who was happily basking in the applause offered so freely. Theseus turned and beckoned excitedly for Asterius to join him, eliciting a stoic response from the minotaur who remained still, knowing he would only dampen the king's standing ovation. Only moments later, he called out for Theseus amongst the clamouring crowds.

"My king!" yelled Asterius, waiting patiently below. There was no response - just the continued applause and admiration of the rabid crowds. Again he called out, now straining his vocal cords as he pushed his deep, growling voice to its limits. And once more, Theseus was unable to hear his cries. As the applause began to finally die down minutes later, Theseus leapt down from his makeshift podium upon a mountain of discarded weapons and walked towards the minotaur, who was standing in wait, gripping his great axe in both his large hands as it rested upon his broad shoulder.

"Aha! There you are! Splendid work, Asterius! The crowds here simply can't get enough of us both!" he exclaimed, brushing a stray strand of soft, flaxen hair from his tan forehead. His smile remained firmly fixed in place as he reached up and placed a strong, calloused hand on Asterius' naked bicep, unable to reach much higher as the minotaur stood upright, rather than adopting his usual hunched posture. "Is something wrong, old friend?"

Asterius turned his head away from the king, hiding his flustered expression as he hesitated. Most humans struggled to read a bull’s expressions - but Theseus was different. The king's warm touch was enough to elicit an immediate physical response from the minotaur. After gathering his thoughts, he snorted and gripped his axe tighter yet, before responding. "My king. Where shall we go next?" The question appeared to provoke some thought from the human king as he furrowed his brow. 

"Well, I suppose we have thoroughly dispatched the wretches in this area." He looked around at the battlefield surrounding them, littered with the remains of a long battle. He briefly paused his train of thought to take advantage of an opportunity to check himself out in the reflection offered by a sword half buried in the ground, before resuming his sentence. "But as you know, there's always more! How many chambers does this place have anyway?!" He laughed heartily, the corners of his ever-youthful eyes overtaken by an infectious excitement.

The bull snorted once again. "And I shall be by your side for all of them, my king," he declared unabashedly, his heart swelling ever so slightly with pride as he did so. "But do you not think it prudent to stop and rest, even once?" he asked, his eyes fixated upon the former king. Asterius watched Theseus consider the proposition, then begin to speak.

"Certainly not, Asterius. I cannot bear the thought of letting this spear of mine grow dull and heavy in these hands, rotting away in luxury like these so-called heroes," replied Theseus sincerely, gesturing dismissively to the battleground around them. His thick, lush brows once again furrowed as a troubling thought crossed his mind. Asterius did not fail to notice the human's burly forearms ripple as he subtly clenched his fists, relaxing them just as quickly to reach up and run his hands through his hair before craning his neck upwards to smile confidently at the minotaur. "And besides, I can't stop here. I have something I must do here before I allow myself the benefit of resting."

What he meant by this, Asterius did not know. But his mind raced as to what the king could possibly mean. Was there some old rival the two had yet to relentlessly pursue in the afterlife? Perhaps he was waiting for such a rival to finally arrive within the underworld. All this time spent together in the underworld, and yet Asterius still had barely even a vague understanding of what motivated the Athenian to continue onwards where countless other heroes within Elysium had fallen into a sorry state, drowning their sorrows deep within the river Lethe. A battle waged within the minotaur's core as he fought the urge to simply ask the question that burned in his mind. As it was, it seemed this would be his first defeat here in Elysium. He opened his lips, and, his heart pounding through his thick chest, began to dare ask something of his king.

However, before anything more could transpire, the fabric of this ethereal memory faded into obscurity. A dream, perhaps? It was impossible to tell in the moment, as Asterius' mind drifted between points unknown, grasping and straining to return to the comfort of the cocoon-like memory. And yet it was not to be. Because as one body grew cold, another within the same chamber held onto a lingering warmth. A spark still remained. Merely a spark, yes - but one that found itself inexplicably fanned into a growing flame by the mere utterance of words that held the key to someplace deeper yet than even the Stygian Blade had penetrated. Asterius would not, could not stay here. He had somewhere to return to. Someone to return to. And thus, this sunlit vignette was fated to be burnt away and replaced by something else entirely. 


	2. An Alluring Stream

One of the many lessons imparted unto the son of Hades during his rigorous education in all matters combative by the late Achilles was the common wisdom that minotaurs are challenging beasts to slay. Yet this was a fact that was seemingly not fully appreciated by the prince. Conversely, the reality of this lesson had long been well understood by Theseus, who had dispatched the Bull of Minos himself once before. Despite the fact that Zagreus had finally emerged victorious over both the champions of Elysium, he was still young in years and lacked the experience the two champions, especially the Athenian, possessed. The difference between the underworld prince and Theseus in this regard was plainly obvious - the prince knew little of a minotaur's anatomy despite Achilles' otherwise comprehensive instruction, and he lacked the ability to keep a cool enough head to apply what he did know. For the prince, the bull and his king were simply inconvenient obstacles standing in the way of his true goal, which by all accounts seemed to lay on the surface above. When the king had engaged the minotaur within the labyrinth, he had felt no such annoyance - far from being an obstacle, slaying Asterius had been his sole objective. It should be no surprise then, that while his final attack had been a decisive thrust in a similar fashion to the one performed by Zagreus, the Athenian had instead opted to send the point of his blade through the beast's neck rather than its enormous torso. This crucial shortcoming on the prince's part combined with the fact that Zagreus had never before managed to strike such severe wounds to Asterius, led to what the young prince's instructor would no doubt describe as a rushed, amateurish attempt at slaying the beast. And as such, his killing blow had proved not to be as instantaneously fatal as he had hoped, having not quite accounted for the sheer size and density of the minotaur's chest.

Had the Stygian Blade pierced the bull's heart as resoundingly as it had cleaved through his shoulder, Asterius would have met the same fate as his king. Yet he had not, although the wounds inflicted on the minotaur's body would still surely kill Asterius in time. In his current condition, the surviving champion would die either from the acute loss of blood he had suffered or by being slain in his weakened state by the many shades which no doubt lay in wait somewhere outside this chamber to defeat him and claim the dubious honour for themselves. But for now, Asterius still hung on to a small vestige of life, his consciousness clawing its way to the surface from a slumber meant to be inescapably eternal. Of course, the reason for his apparent resurrection was not solely due to the hurried bladework of the son of Hades. As unchanging and immovable as the pillars that held up this chamber's ceiling was the simple fact that when his king called - the Bull of Minos followed, in life or in near-death. And in his final moments within this empty arena, the human king had cried out in such a desperate fashion that it shook the bull from his deathly slumber.

As his dark eyes opened, Asterius found himself profoundly lost in an empty world. An all-encompassing fog had spread itself wide across and deep within the recesses of his waking mind, preventing him from recalling even the events which had led to his current state. From a deep sleep that he had no right to awaken from, he struggled to even focus his eyes on what lay in front of him - or more accurately, directly above him. He slowly came to understand that he now lay on his back, a chill sinking into his spine as the cold, engraved stone pressed painfully against his skin. Unable to move his head immediately, he attempted to regain control of whichever small part of his massive body would respond to his dazed commands. Attempting to move the tips of his fingers elicited a bizarre sensation on his right side, and he was barely even able to curl just one of his girthy fingers without wincing in pain. In a surprisingly short amount of time, he managed to regain control of at least the majority of his upper body and began to understand that he had been wounded severely. He was suddenly overtaken by such an overwhelming sense of urgency that goosebumps rippled along the surface of his skin. Why was he here? What had happened, and where was his king? As the final words of that last question tore through his mind, he immediately remembered everything. He willed his hulking upper half to rise from the freezing floor as he now sat upright, turning his head hurriedly to scan his surroundings. His eyes refused to focus past his immediate vicinity, and only the pool of darkened, oxidised blood that he had been laying in was visible to him. Just as his bulging thighs regained a modicum of sensation, his vision finally fixated on a dark, unmoving object to his right.

Straining his eyes, he saw the object's true form. The body that lay lifeless across from him unmistakably belonged to Theseus, his blond hair streaked with a deep crimson. Asterius gasped and clutched his chest as his heart suddenly slammed its weight against his breastbone, now beating desperately with a renewed furor. His legs were overcome with the surging warmth of fresh blood forcing its way into his veins, his body finally shaking itself out of its stupor. The minotaur called out as he hurriedly attempted to get to his feet, fighting his shaking limbs to even place one foot on the ground. 

"Theseus!" roared the bull, staggering and falling to the ground just as soon as he stood upright. Cursing beneath his breath, he attempted to stand again. "I am here, my king! Please remain still!" bellowed Asterius as he now slowly staggered towards where Theseus had fallen. Every few steps the minotaur took sent him reeling from a fresh onslaught of searing pain, and he would fall no further than to one trembling knee before standing once more and continuing onwards. So strong was he in both body and mind, that his willpower only faltered once he found himself standing over what remained of Theseus. This time, he sunk to his knees completely, only stopping himself from stooping any lower by the grace of the only functioning arm he possessed, now outstretched to prop his torso up above the corpse of his king. His thick neck shuddered as he opened his eyes and slowly overlooked what had become of the fallen Theseus. The exsanguinated corpse lay face down in such an abhorrent cradle of macerated flesh and dried blood that even the Bull of Minos felt his stomach rebel.

All creatures whose hearts still beat have a breaking point, and a beast as strong and as hardy as the Bull of Minos was no exception. And it was when Asterius tenderly turned the body of the king over and held Theseus' head in his hands that he reached his own. The tan, well-defined features that were once permanently decorated with a radiant glow were now lifeless and sunken. How cruel it was that he had so often desperately wished to hold Theseus in his hands just like this, only for his wish to come true here and now. The entirety of his companion's desecrated body assaulted the minotaur's senses relentlessly. Asterius cowed his head and trembled in rage as the reality now fully bore down on him. Despite how hard he had fought these countless years by his king's side, it had ultimately been a futile exercise. He was unable to protect this fragile human life even here, in the underworld. He raised his head again, consumed with a wrathful anguish, and allowed his ear-splitting roar to shake the dead halls of Elysium to their core, dislodging crumbling masonry as it reverberated throughout. Gently now, he let Theseus down onto the floor. The minotaur leaned his immense weight over him as he ran his fingers through Theseus' hair, brushing it upwards and to the left the way he knew his king had preferred while he had still drawn breath. As he raised a shaking hand to wipe the streaming tears from his eyes, he turned his gaze towards the true centre of the arena, where he now felt an urge to lay Theseus down - as he thought seemed befitting of the greatest champion to grace its ornate floor. Theseus had come so close to dying in the place he seemed to love the most, only to be cut down just mere feet away from his self-assigned domain. Asterius looked once more towards his bloodied king and spoke softly before preparing to cradle Theseus in his arms and lay him down in what was to be his final resting place.

"My king, I am sorry," spoke Asterius in a hushed tone as he slid his huge arm underneath the king's broken body and lifted him up, clutching Theseus close to his beating chest. "I failed you, in the end." Moving towards the centre of Elysium's final chamber, the minotaur held Theseus tight against him, now unable to prevent the tears from streaking down his face and tracing their silvery path towards his king's already tear-soaked, bloodied face. Each step assailed Asterius with countless memories of long summer days spent with the one he adored. As he finally reached the centre, Asterius paused to look down at his king's limp body, refusing to tear his eyes away from Theseus. Laying him down here somehow felt irreparably final, as if he was burying his king with his own two hands, sealing him away for good. It was pondering this finality which led him to decide then and there that, if this was to be the tomb of the Athenian king, then he would remain here alongside him for as long an eternity as he was granted before he too met Theseus' fate.

"Rest now, my Theseus," whispered Asterius, laying the champion down to rest upon the circular heart of the chamber, its surface adorned with murals of their triumphs together. He looked up only to cast a venomous glance towards the empty viewing platforms, abandoned by the fickle crowds just as they had abandoned Theseus as soon as he had faced defeat. "They may remember you here as the greatest king of Athens, but I will bear witness to the man you were."

And so it came to be that this last chamber of Elysium became a mausoleum. Guarded as it was by the Bull of Minos, who, having resigned himself to a lifetime of longing during his time by the king's side in the afterlife - now resigned himself one last time to a pitiful existence guarding the resting place of his king. That endless cerulean sun they had spent their second lives fighting underneath would bear down relentlessly upon this decrepit crypt and fade even the colourful hues of Theseus' tunic as it bleached his shattered bones. This was the future that Asterius envisioned as he now left his king's body solely for the purpose of retrieving his great axe, unable to lift it but still determinedly dragging it back over towards his final watch. His grunts and snorts betrayed the immense effort it took for him to even move it a short distance. Yet he was not to be deterred, and finally he stood in front of his king's body, facing towards the formerly grand entrance of the arena. The head of his axe rested upon the ground, and an unknowing onlooker may have mistaken the firm grip his right hand held on the lengthy shaft of the upturned weapon as a sign of strength. However, the axe was perhaps the only thing keeping Asterius upright as its great weight prevented him from succumbing to his injuries before his duty was complete. 

Just as minotaurs are hard to kill, it must also be said that they are not particularly imaginative or optimistic creatures. Though in Asterius' case, perhaps those two attributes may have had more to do with a lifetime of confinement in a dark maze than any inherent trait possessed by bull-headed men. Even the most imaginative human would have struggled to predict what happened next, however. Shortly after the bull had assumed his position guarding his charge, the fabric of this dark reality frayed somewhat, allowing what was, in the grand scheme of things, a tiny sliver of light to poke through and pierce the subterranean world. Asterius did not notice this breach at first, distraught as he was. But even the crippling loss he was now resigned to spend the rest of his afterlife reliving was not enough to completely detach him from his senses. Several of which indicated to him that something was wrong. A cacophonous sound assaulted his eardrums at the same time that a blindingly bright light emanated from directly behind him. Turning his hulking body immediately upon realising that something had snuck up behind him, he found that even had he been able to lift his axe, it would have been of little assistance against what lay in front of him. A soft pink hue now nibbled gently at the edges of that incredible brightness, and as the bull squinted he saw what lay within. Or rather, what lay far, far above.

The apparition that now lay before him came from such dizzying heights that the minotaur knew it could only be one thing. Other than Lord Hades, this was his only encounter with a true god, the kind that hailed from high on Mount Olympus. His mortal life had been notably devoid of any Olympian contact and his afterlife had placed him even further away from their attention until he and Theseus were commissioned by the ruler of the underworld to subdue his truant son. Had his heart not already been occupied by a certain king, he would have no doubt been swayed by the intense charm that radiated from the feminine apparition. As his murky eyes gazed into the blanched aura, he recoiled slightly as he was taken aback by her scantily clad appearance. Her ample proportions, elegantly contoured face, and luxuriously cascading hair was accompanied by deep fuchsia irises that had invited both men and women deeper still. Asterius suspected that many of those poor mortals had found their tumultuous emotions and aspirations altogether soundly dashed upon the rocks that lay on her cold shore. Despite her uniquely feminine charm, he had enough sense to know that out of all the Olympians, this barely dressed goddess was one of the more powerful. It was in her name that vast oceans of blood had and would continue to be freely spilt. Her full lips suited the bewitching smile that she wore upon her face, one that only grew as she spoke.

"Oh my! My poor strapping minotaur!" exclaimed Aphrodite, placing her delicately manicured hand provocatively underneath her chin as she spoke in a forced tone that could almost be considered mocking. "It seems like your heart has been thoroughly broken, poor thing. I had the pleasure of watching your battle with dearest Zagreus . . . " she paused, her cheeks positively overwhelmed with a rosy complexion as she calmed herself down before continuing. "So thrilling, really. We do so rarely have the privilege of such a stirring tragedy here on Mount Olympus."

"Lady Aphrodite," the bull snorted. "The king's death is no play. I would advise you to choose your words carefully when you speak of him." Asterius tried to let his brimming anger at her irreverent attitude dissipate just enough to continue without insulting the goddess further, squeezing his gigantic axe with a vice-like grip as if it were instead the woman's fragile neck before growling his response. "Leave me to mourn, so I may remain here in peace by my king's side until I too am cut down . . . and do not speak to me of that upstart prince again." He had immediately failed to fully contain his anger as soon as he thought of the underworld prince, embedding those last few words with such scorn that he may as well have spat on the floor at the mere mention of the prince's name.

The goddess of love merely smiled in response to his curt, blatantly agitated reply. Despite how often it seemed to adorn her face, her smile was impenetrable to the minotaur. Much unlike Theseus, whose smile seemed impossibly genuine in its warmth and was a part of what allowed him his status as a natural leader of men - though this latter description could easily be said to be true of the goddess, it was in markedly different context. Her expression stirred to the forefront both the best and worst desires possessed by mortals, and led them hand in hand to all manner of fates. Asterius suspected that whether this outcome consisted largely of pain or pleasure was something the woman decided herself, on a whim.

"I'm not nearly as cruel as my brothers and sisters, darling. And I do so love a good show. So I shall bestow upon you one blessing. Think of it as a sign of my deep appreciation for the love you display," crooned the goddess as she tossed her iridescent hair behind her shoulder. 

"I require no petty favour from neither god nor goddess, my lady. If you are to bless me, leave me be to crush those who would trespass."

Again, that smile. Though its nature was still barely determinable, especially through the haze of the apparition, it was now one the minotaur could recognise more easily than most mortals. It was the smile of a predator that had surrounded its prey, and one which was keenly aware of this fact.

"My dear, you mistake me. Stubborn bull that you are, you haven't considered one thing."

She dropped her voice to a whisper as that predatory smile expanded even further, her eyes gleaming.

"I can bring him back."

Asterius was close to breaking again. The fact that he had already reached his breaking point earlier only meant that he was now ever more fragile, his wounds fully exposed for the underworld to see. And it seemed that those wounds had also caught the attention of this alluring goddess. The thoughts racing through his mind threatened to send him truly mad as he considered those five words that had just been uttered so casually to him. He attempted to meet the goddess' gaze as he spoke.

"Truly?" whispered Asterius, his deep voice cracking hopelessly as he crumbled from the inside. He could not keep his feelings from kicking and screaming their way again to his stoic surface.

"Oh why, of course, my darling bull-man. For us Olympians, life and death are simple, mortal matters. Yes, that human heart-throb can be brought back just as easily as he was dispatched, and just as handsome as before," laughed Lady Aphrodite.

"If that is truly the case . . . then I must ask this one thing of you, Lady Aphrodite." Asterius paused to gaze downwards at his king. He would pay any price to see life returned to those sunken cheeks. To see that smile once more. "Please, bring him back to me."

The goddess clapped her hands in excitement before addressing the bull again. 

"Delightful! The drama!" giggled Aphrodite. She stopped her frivolity only when she noticed the bull's unamused expression. "I shall fulfil your wish, don't worry! It's just that the mountain air can get to one's head, you know? It can be so dreadfully boring up here. But no matter, let's have your king return, shall we?" She looked away from Asterius as she snapped her long fingers in a decisive fashion, and after several torturous seconds she turned her head to regard the waiting minotaur and sighed.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. It seems that even my own wishes curry little favour with certain people," complained the goddess in an irate tone as she rolled her eyes, seemingly disappointed that her godly authority had been questioned by forces unknown to Asterius, who now grew enraged at having his hopes yet again dashed, by this cruel goddess.

"You must think me a fool for believing all the sweet words that tumbled out of your lying mouth," growled the Bull of Minos, clenching his enormous fists.

Taken aback, the goddess of love clutched her chest and affixed a hurt expression on her face, one that Asterius knew better than to trust. 

"My dearest bull, that is not the case . . . I wished perhaps more than any of us on Olympus to see you reunited with your love. Yet I alone cannot go against the forces which compel even us gods and goddesses," the woman lamented. 

"Lady Aphrodite, you may be a goddess. But if you insist on toying with me, I must ask you to instead peddle your lies to the foolish mortals milling about on the surface. I will not stand here and have my king and I used as a prop in some tired Olympian's play!" Asterius now shook with a barely contained wrath that was only fanned to even further heights by his utter impotence in the face of this goddess' whimsical diversions.

"Believe me when I say that I am here solely for your benefit, bull-man. You shall see that eventually, I think." Aphrodite placed an elegant finger under her chin as she pondered something. "I shan't linger too long, even for a strapping beast like yourself. But perhaps I can sway you by means of a parting gift." 

Before the minotaur could refuse her offer, she had already snapped her fingers once again. This time however, something tangible transpired. From what must have been her own realm upon Olympus, an object descended much the same way her apparition had just minutes prior. Asterius shielded his eyes and squinted as he tried to make out the object's nature, though this was soon readily apparent as it slowly glided downwards to hover in front of him. The object pulsated with an undeniably thick, viscous lifeforce. He had only ever heard of such an item before, as they were hard to come by even for the champions of Elysium.

"A centaur's heart is said to heal even the deepest of wounds, dearest. I'd eat up if I were you," lectured the goddess in a wry tone.

The bull paused. 

"Eat . . . up?" he repeated, clearly confused.

"Yes! I'm told they're lovely, although I can't vouch for its taste personally. Not terribly ladylike in its consumption, you see," laughed Aphrodite as she watched the minotaur hold the still-beating heart in his hands. An imperceptible smile that almost seemed to be genuine briefly darted across her face as the bull looked up to address her. 

"I have no use for this. If you had such healing powers, you should have bestowed them upon the king earlier instead of laughing all the way up from your perch in Olympus," said Asterius defiantly as he released his grip upon the centaur heart.

"Again, you have mistaken me. The heart is not my gift to you," replied the goddess. "My gift to you is this: while I cannot bring your king back myself, I may know of a way he can still be returned to you." 

These words, much like the ones she had uttered to him not even a short time ago, pierced the bull's composure resoundingly. Despite the fact that he knew the goddess was toying with him, he was helpless but to allow her to tug and pull mercilessly at his heartstrings. Theseus was both his biggest strength and his most crippling weakness, one that the amorous Olympian saw for what it was. This ability to see into the hearts of gods and mortals alike was perhaps one of her many powers. Without speaking, the Bull of Minos stood and listened intently to Aphrodite.

"You should know by now that for both of you, the river Styx has effectively ceased to flow. I shall not speak about the circumstances which led to such an awful curse, but I will tell you that should you yourself manage to place his body beneath the surface of the Styx proper, he will return to you." Aphrodite paused for effect before continuing. "Or so I have heard. And of course, it will not be easy. Even for someone as strong as you."

Asterius did not meet her gaze this time. Ignoring her completely, he dropped his axe and knelt down beside Theseus. Had the king yet lived, he would have seen that the beast's eyes desperately implored him to give an answer to the dilemma he was now faced with. Whether to accept the daintily outstretched helping hand of the goddess or to instead remain here forever, this was a choice whose implications were not to be taken lightly. Until this very moment, the minotaur had always followed in the footsteps of his ruler, devoting himself completely to the righteous self-assurance Theseus possessed. But no matter how much Asterius may have now wished for Theseus to lead him to the correct path, he would receive no response from the cold corpse. 

"The river Styx, you say?" asked the minotaur in a suddenly cold tone, not so much as glancing upwards from the king's body.

"Yes, you see-" 

"That is enough, Lady Aphrodite. Your advice has been most welcome," interrupted Asterius impatiently, reaching behind him to violently tug the centaur heart from its floating orbit. Without any hesitation, he opened his monstrous, wide jaw and bit into the pulsating organ, devouring it with such an animalistic fervour that even the onlooking Aphrodite winced and averted her gaze. After the heart had been completely consumed in a manner of seconds, the minotaur felt his body suddenly pulsate with a newfound vigour, his wounds beginning to slowly pull themselves closed as rejuvenated flesh and blood coursed throughout his body. Now able to retrieve and lift his great axe properly, he slung it behind his back and scooped up his king's body in both his arms before turning to leave the chamber, all the while sparing not even a stray glance in Aphrodite's direction. Somewhat insulted, the goddess raised her voice to reach him as he steadily strode away from her apparition.

"You have some nerve, bull-man! Turning your back on a lady! An Olympian, no less!" yelled the goddess as the minotaur's back grew ever smaller. Eventually, she was left to talk only to an empty, bloodstained room. Asterius was not there to hear her scornful tone as she lamented the minotaur's disrespect. He was long gone by now, and shortly enough her apparition faded into nothingness, far out of his sight and even further out of his mind.

Outside the chamber, Asterius stepped onto the winding path that would lead him ever downwards towards Tartarus, where he knew he would find the river Styx flowing freely. He stopped solely to savour the change in scenery, having spent what felt like several lifetimes in the arena - which of course, he had. Even though there was no such thing as fresh air this far beneath the surface world, to him it seemed as if the eternally dead air outside of the chamber surged at his back, urging him to continue onwards. The path he now followed with his king held tightly in his arms was the same path that Prince Zagreus had torn his way through to reach the two champions and attempt his escape from the underworld. Asterius supposed that while he could not follow the prince upwards, it was a small blessing that the son of Hades had unknowingly left a well-worn route to the destination that the minotaur now began his journey towards, far below. 

He was quickly joined on his descent by the sounds of his would-be attackers scarpering away from where they had laid in ambush, as they quickly realised he was no longer crippled from his battle with Prince Zagreus, his fiery disposition threatening to burn both flesh and bone to cinder. Those few brave enough to stand their ground and look the minotaur in the eyes even as their comrades cowered still found themselves cowed by the Bull of Minos' smouldering glare. Their eyes darted between the gored corpse of Theseus and the overpowering form of the bull that carried him as he stood covered in blood, before they dropped their weapons and turned tail. Deeply set and now more full of misanthropic wrath than ever before, his eyes burned their way accusingly into the soul of anyone who had the courage to meet them halfway, even as they lay under the shadow of his heavy brow. To face Asterius now was to disturb a barely contained maelstrom that so desperately wanted to be freed and let to do its work upon the decadent stonework and hollow shades whose conceit tainted every corner of this world. The same underworld which had torn from his hands his sole respite from an unimaginably pitiful and cruel existence. Even the fools who had thought themselves able to slay an injured minotaur knew better than to let their own hubris carry them into the path of the beast that now descended upon them.

Soon enough after their hasty retreat, Asterius could no longer hear the muffled sounds of the former warriors laying nervously in wait. Now completely alone with his tumultuous thoughts as he followed the remnants of the underworld prince's battle towards the surface, the silence became oppressive, offering not even such an impotent distraction as the exalted shades had provided. He desperately wished for the metallic screech of an unsheathed sword to punctuate this emptiness and allow him at least the small pleasure of butchering his opponent. Anything that would distract him from the reality of what lay between his arms. But no such small mercy would be afforded to him. Instead, a sound he had never previously paid any mind to began to climb its way to the forefront of his heightened senses. And it was close enough that he was unable to ignore it for long as it steadily rose in pitch. No more than a few meters to his left, out of the corner of his bloodshot eye, he saw the source of the sound which demanded his attention. Despite his determination to deliver his king swiftly, he found himself slowly stopping in his tracks. Trying to fight the slow turn of his head to look over towards the source of the disturbance was a futile effort. Utterly enticed in spite of himself, he strayed from his path to stand still on the bank of the river Lethe, entranced. It was not a new sight to him; indeed it was a constant feature of this realm, no matter where one went within Elysium. Impossible to truly escape, it would always be mere feet away from most chambers in the Elysian domain - even in places where it made little sense for it to appear, it would somehow make its presence known. In spite of its omnipresent nature, Asterius had never paid it much attention as he had stood by Theseus' side in constant battle. But now he instead stood helplessly transfixed as he sat with his dead king in his arms by the river bank, leaning his head forward to look even deeper beneath that cloud-like surface. Its ethereal nature made it seem as if it should be perfectly transparent, but its lack of immediate opacity gave way only to a seemingly infinite strata of pale, puffy nothingness. To the minotaur, it felt as if each layer of the river's depths invited him even further downwards. He could not possibly make out the bottom, and soon his eyes had reached their limit. How many layers had he discovered just by sitting here, watching the river's currents? He could do naught but lean further downwards, his balance tested as he began to slip ever so slowly from the river's grassy bank and into the Lethe proper.

Any outside observer familiar with the many rivers which encircled the underworld would have quickly realised what was afflicting Asterius. Lost souls, even exalted ones such as the shades that resided within Elysium, were drawn to such places. Souls that possessed old wounds, and fresh pain. The river only asked that you surrender your being to its soothing surface, one sip at a time, and it would anaesthetise all. Eventually he would be adrift upon those soft swells, unable to return. For a beast whose world had been irreparably torn asunder just hours prior, to then be consoled solely by being thrown only a tenuous scrap of hope by an insincere goddess; it would be all too easy to let himself slide down the river's bank and into a certain, blissful oblivion. And it was this potent compulsion which enticed him so thoroughly beyond reason, beyond himself. To sip from the Lethe invited a slow degradation, but to fall entirely into it meant complete annihilation. And it was the latter which the minotaur was only moments away from falling victim to, the deceptively steep slope of the river bank easing him past the point of no return. His own voice screamed out from within to try and stir his addled consciousness from his dazed state, as whichever small part of him still managed to resist the river's temptation knew he was no longer sitting by the bank but instead falling rapidly towards the oblivion the river offered so freely, his toes quickly finding themselves completely numb as they submerged themselves beneath the river's deadening surface.

Wet grass clung to the riverbank, evergreen and slick to the touch. And in spite of his woes, so too did Asterius now cling to the riverbank, a heavy arm trembling in exertion as he pulled himself back from the brink. The minotaur was strong, but even his immense physicality found its limits as he grasped Theseus in one arm and, grunting, grasped at any handhold that presented itself, slipping and sliding as he desperately tore clumps of moist earth from the embankment. Each breathless escape attempt seemed to invite agonising memories to surface and torment the bull, almost as if the Lethe thought to bring him to heel by reminding him of what he could so easily wash away. He wouldn't even have to bear the shame of freely offering himself to the river, it said. Be known by all who would watch your descent as one who fought until the end, just like your dead king. All he had to do was let the tips of his mud-covered fingers brush ever so closely past the only remaining handhold, failing to find purchase, and the silvery stream below would wash the rest away. Come one, come all, it said. Climb even one blade of grass higher and let this chance slip away, how dare you!

It was with gritted teeth and a bullish determination that Asterius' fingers did indeed find purchase, and he wasted no time heaving his laden body upwards, crawling and gasping for breath back on solid ground. After several successive attempts to calm his ragged breathing, he looked down at Theseus and smothered him in a trembling embrace. It seemed as if the entire underworld was against him, even its very streams and soil hell-bent on dragging them both down. His eyes grew red from the tears that flowed freely from their corners as he sobbed into his king's shoulder. The crushing shame of almost failing Theseus again felt as if it would fold the beast in half. Why had he, of all creatures, been cursed with both such a deep adoration for the king and such a weak, cowardly soul? 

Self-mutilation is a pitiful sight. It is also a rot that is easily disguised, perhaps even mistaken for bravery or some other such word used to describe behaviour that defies self-preservation. This is not to say, of course, that brave Asterius was not so brave after all. But rather that subjecting oneself to punishment can provide a momentary abatement of what can otherwise seem like a ceaseless torrent of feelings best left well alone. In the bull's case, would he have swung his great axe with such an abandon had he not been suffering from this affliction? Asterius knew that he wanted nothing more than to be with his king, and would do anything to protect him. But he could not shake the wish he held sincerely for his own death, in place of Theseus. He wished to bare himself to the world which hated him so, whose hatred was so deep that it had seeped into every pore of his being and thoroughly corrupted him from the inside - and let them flay him. For the minotaur, his muscle-bound body empowered him only to suffer more beneath the altar of his own self-sacrifice. The army of shades which had planned to ambush him earlier could have piled themselves on top of him, used their collective mass to somehow topple the beast and pin him to the soil; but even that tremendous physical force would have been but feathers compared to the self loathing which finally encased the bull entirely, exerting its eager grip upon his weakened heart. The pallid face of his rotting love at once both comforted him and brought him even further past the point of tears. How could he possibly look Theseus in those shameless eyes again, even if he somehow made it to the Styx, even if Aphrodite had spoken the truth? He had failed so utterly, in such a pathetic fashion that he could feel even his own wretched sense of self crumbling inwards, exposing areas not meant to see the surface, much like the underworld he resided in.

Ultimately though, all this anguish was for nothing. Because despite its immense gravity, the river Lethe still flowed past Asterius. Its pull might have seemed inescapable to those who found themselves gazing within, but time waits for neither man nor beast. Those currents would rush past him unabated, their temptations borne upon the surface waiting for another unfortunate soul to be ensnared. Asterius could linger here by the bank and bathe in loathing until his body turned to dust, but it would be in vain. Even the pain that fancied itself his constant companion, which seemed so omnipotent, would be scattered into the ether along with his powdered bones. It was no easy task, certainly. His wounds would not heal in an instant, no matter how much determination he might put into his next step. But each step would leave that pain behind just a little further. A little weaker. And it would leave him a little farther. A little stronger.

Once he felt his king's heartbeat again, once he saw that smile - yes, it would be okay. The pull of the Lethe would always pale in comparison to the sheer magnetism of that unspoiled, pure visage. It was the king's stubbornly optimistic voice that spoke to him and muffled those feelings which conspired to drag him further down. It was the king's warm, weathered hands which reached out to him and imparted their hot, lasting touch upon the beast's skin. And it was further yet that Asterius had to go to bring these fragments of his shattered companion back together. To see him again. Despite the Lethe's best efforts to subdue him, he had never once let his king slip from his thick arms, even as he had hung inches from oblivion beside the river bank. And it was with his Theseus that he rose again from the wet grass. The river protested, of course. But no matter; he was already on his feet, with his king held just as tightly as ever. His back had now turned and cast its gargantuan shadow on two seemingly omnipotent forces just in the span of a few short hours. Without any further delay, his thudding footsteps could soon be heard steadily treading the mossy cobblestone path which led below.


	3. An Audience for Two

**_Long before the prince’s escape..._ **

“Wait! What’s going on!?” screeched the snake-headed lady.

The shrill tone of the hydra did not reach far, being swallowed almost instantaneously by the bulging mass of shades which had overtaken the House. It seemed as if the only occupant not currently joining the fray was that accursed creature out back, who did not dare to enter the House proper in the best of times. Something had clearly gotten into them . . . was it a revolt? No, she thought. They’d never dare.

Becoming more and more anxious as the shades blocked her path back to the main hall and seeing no way through the growing congregation, she floated upwards into the candlelit rafters of the east wing - the best seats in the house. 

“Here to watch, Dusa?” inquired a familiar voice immediately behind her, causing the servant to yelp loudly in surprise.

The house hydra was prone to panic, and was no more liable to do so than when in the underworld prince’s presence. Even though she was a disembodied head floating feet off the ground, she nonetheless found herself uncomfortably hot when next to him, his incendiary body and molten feet incinerating whichever stray particles of dust and torn scraps of parchment came his way. 

“Y-yes, your highness,” she replied.

Zagreus walked to the edge of the rafter they stood on and sat down, idly kicking his legs to and fro as he regarded the scene below. Dusa nervously followed, now self conscious about gawking next to the prince.

“Oh, it’s alright Dusa,” he smiled, looking back over his shoulder to face her. “I won’t tell Father.”

“Ha-ha, t-thank you!” she stuttered, hurriedly floating over to hover by this shoulder. Her eyes widened as she finally saw the centre of the main hall, a small clearing amongst the sea of shades. The scene she saw was difficult to take in. Achilles, always on the front line, yelled for the masses to disperse and keep their distance from the throne. Even closer to the throne prowled Cerberus, each of his three heads as yet undecided on which poor soul seemed most appetizing. On the throne itself, of course, sat Lord Hades. 

Despite the state of his house, he was unmoved. Everything seemed to be in frenzied, constant motion except for the underworld king. His massive form dwarfed every other being present, save for the gigantic Cerberus. The smoldering gaze which still burned underneath his eternally furrowed brows cared not for the commotion, instead fixating itself entirely upon the other king standing across from him.

“Is that . . . ?” asked Dusa, whispering in Zagreus’ ear.

“Yes, no doubt about it,” he answered, not moving his head. “He’s only just got here and this has already gotten out of hand.” He frowned. “They don’t pull out the red carpet like this for just any wretch.”

“Oh wow! I wonder how he got here?” she chirped excitedly.

Zagreus did not reply, staring downwards as if in a trance. Awkwardly, Dusa shot a sideways glance towards the prince, her stone heart shooting up into her throat as she did so. He did not meet her gaze. To her, in that moment - his gaze possessed an uncanny resemblance to his lord father’s. 

From where they were, neither of them could see the entirety of man who stood alone in the center of the main hall. But what they saw conveyed more than enough to identify him, even at a hundred, no, maybe even a thousand paces. Candlelight lit his blond hair favourably, imbuing its warmth upon a body and face that had clearly felt more than its fair share of the sun’s warmth. Visible even from where they sat was his muscled physique, which was on full display as what looked to be a weighty bronze helmet was held under his arm, giving even the peerless Achilles a run for his money. But whereas Achilles carried himself with a certain amount of servile grace, this man stood proud - perhaps too proud. Achilles also had the modesty to at least attempt to conceal his physique, while the blond king wore a loose fitting tunic which was slung diagonally across his body, affording him the status of “technically clothed”, despite the reality being somewhat more complicated.

Before she could ask any further questions of Zagreus, a commotion broke out in the crowd, a mass of shades swelling by the side which blocked the entrance to the pool of Styx. After several seconds, a boy and his bed broke out from the fracas, gasping for breath as he outstretched a trembling hand towards the king’s back.

“Ah! There you are! Please wait for me!” pleaded Hypnos, pulling his quilt-like robe back over his shoulders and rubbing eternal sleep out of his eye. The man whose attention he sought paid him no heed, despite his pleas.

“Theseus, right?” Hypnos paused to check the scroll which floated in front of him, and upon reading it visibly gulped. “It uh, says here that you fe-”

“You have some nerve, king!” bellowed Lord Hades, his booming voice immediately bringing the hall to a silent standstill. Dusa winced almost by instinct, grateful she was not the subject of his wrath - at least this time. The prince still seemed undeterred, intent on watching the scenario play out.

“Honestly, these humans . . . I suppose not all can be as obedient as Achilles here,” growled Lord Hades. “Very well. In light of your status, I shall let you state your case.” 

Theseus smiled and swept a stray lick of hair from his face.

“Lord Hades, I have only one request,” he proclaimed boldly.

Hades drummed his thick fingers on the cold stone of his desk. 

“That being?”

“Oh, it’s nothing too troublesome. I expect he’ll be here any minute now, in fact,” Theseus answered assuredly, his eyes scanning the crowd which now hung hopelessly on every word. “Lord Hades, I must commend you - I don’t know where you’ve managed to hide him, the big beast!”

Up in the rafters, Dusa’s tendrils twisted themselves into knots trying to keep up with the conversation between the two in the hall. Now that the hall had fallen so utterly quiet save for the guest of honor and his host, she made sure to lower her voice even further before she spoke.

“W-who is he talking about, prince?” she whispered.

“I have no idea . . . maybe an old companion of his?” replied Zagreus, his eyes clouding over momentarily as he tried to recall all that Achilles had taught him of the Athenian king.

As the underworld lord grew impatient down below, Theseus seemed to become increasingly confused as each second passed in dead silence, punctuated only by Hades’ drumming fingers and the coarse breathing of the hellhound.

Finally, the silence broke as a loud sigh came from Lord Hades.

“I have important matters to attend to. Either you come forth now with your request, or I shall deal with you according to procedure. Choose now, king of Athens.”

Faced with the lord’s ultimatum, Theseus did not waver. At least he did not do so in view of those unable to see, as Hypnos could, the minute ripples that shot across his forearms as he gripped the helmet he held under his arm more tightly than a man of his strength could possibly need to.

“My lord, surely you know of whom I speak?” Theseus looked around the room, this time seeking recognition in the amorphous sea of shades. He found only blank stares. “The minotaur, of course!”

Murmurs broke out amongst the assembled shades, only to be quelled by Achilles and the bared fangs of Cerberus. Silence reigned once more, to be immediately broken by the disturbing sound of Hades’ laughter, which shook the very stone foundations of the house.

“Blood and darkness, the king of Athens has brought me a gift!” he chortled, slamming his fist down on the armrest of his throne as he continued to laugh. “The minotaur, of all things . . .”

The god of the underworld may have found the situation funny, but Hypnos looked on desolately as Theseus stood rigid. It did not escape his notice that the helmet Theseus had clutched tightly before now looked liable to crush inwards on itself.

“Lord Hades!” bellowed Theseus, his brash voice cutting through the dead air.

Hades’ laughter stopped, slowly falling in volume as he glared directly towards Theseus, a wrathful aura filling the room. It was enough to make the crowd recede noticeably, and even the chthonic Hypnos wished he had the energy to follow suit.

“Go on, then.” he snarled.

Despite the prompt of Lord Hades, the king of Athens did not respond immediately. Instead, took his helmet from out under his arm, and, smiling as he ran a finger over a deep gash scored above the brow, threw it at the foot of the underworld’s throne. 

The sound of the bronze helmet hitting the ground reverberated throughout the main hall. It rolled only a few feet further before clattering to a stop. Hades did not so much as flinch, his gaze still gouging deep into Theseus. The thrown helmet was a challenge, of course. To look down meant to concede. To turn back meant to surrender. Both kings knew this well. It was one of those things which men naturally understood, and which warriors lived their lives by. Elysium was a place full of men who had met their end in that exact manner. Well now, a warrior might die for his honor, but a god? Theseus should have known better. A _god_ would go further. 

Dusa and Zagreus were not alone in holding their breath. All those present waited, each second drawn out to an unbearable length. Who would give in? Could Theseus, naught but a dead king, make the king bend to his will, even when measured by a mere flicker of the eyes? Or would the Olympian, the god of this dead kingdom, send his bold guest to the eternal fate that awaited him without a second thought?

It was truly a splendid helmet, the work of a master craftsman. Or rather, it had been, once upon a time. Its bronze surface was elegant and accented by sleek lines which looked as if they had been modeled after the contours of its owner’s face. The plume which laid atop was a fine silver horsehair which itself had been cared for, evident in its lunar sheen. And yet in spite of this craftsmanship, and the obvious care with which it had been treated throughout its years, it was not unblemished. A jagged gash almost as wide as it was deep had torn through the area above the right brow, compromising the entire structure. Such a defect meant this heap of expensive bronzework was now little more than a weighty decoration. Hades supposed that it might make a good paperweight for his desk, if nothing else.

The god of the underworld regarded the sorry state of the discarded helmet before looking back towards Theseus, who stood across from him, still unwilling to tear his own eyes away. 

“No man so much as touched that helm, Lord Hades. Not once in my many years of life did one of their blades come within even a hair’s breadth of its surface.” Theseus smiled assuredly, soothed by hearing the sound of his own voice. “And I’m sure your plan is to send me off to Elysium where I belong, so I can spend my days getting drunk with those same sorry fools. But that seems like a bore!” 

“I want to meet the one who did _that_ ,” he said determinedly as he pointed towards the abandoned helm.

“And you want me to arrange this meeting?” asked Hades, seemingly intrigued.

“Well, yes-”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Hades grinned. Though, it was more accurate to say that he simply bared his teeth, barely visible beneath the pitch-black beard which, it seemed, was eternally bound to his permanently disapproving scowl. Whatever the expression could have been, it was clear that he still found the situation amusing.

“How is that possible? I know he’s here, I sent him here!” exclaimed Theseus, returning to his prior state of frustration.

Lord Hades summoned to his hand a floating parchment similar to the one that accompanied Hypnos, seemingly for something so trivial as theatrical effect, as he did not even turn his head to read it. 

“You sent him here, indeed. But do not be so bold as to assume that merely because you sent him here, that you decide what is done with him once he arrives. Needless to say, he’s where he belongs.”

Theseus gritted his teeth, still somehow maintaining a smile - albeit with difficulty. This was another fact which was only apparent to Hypnos, who found himself wishing the affair would end already, as his eyelids were beginning to grow heavy.

“I don’t see the problem. Elysium can’t be that big!” proclaimed Theseus, who, Zagreus thought, should have already realised by now that Hades was only still in conversation with him for his own amusement. He knew the feeling all too well.

“Oho! Elysium, you say?” chuckled the underworld god. “No, boy. He’s very far from there.”

This time, he glanced at the parchment which had been dutifully floating by his side. 

“Ah yes. I do believe we cast that wretch into Tartarus. Or was it Asphodel?” Hades feigned ignorance. “Quite frankly, we have standards to uphold. And a brooding minotaur whose renown encompasses hulking around in some dusty maze and being dispatched by yourself is hardly the kind we let into Elysium.”

Intending to leave matters at that, Lord Hades sat back in his throne and rested his eyes, content to let things play out as he knew they would - indeed, as they always did. It had been a long day - or was it night? Little matter, he would soon have his son taking care of diversions like this. 

“Why, you bastard!” yelled Theseus, as he stomped towards the throne, eliciting a gasp from Dusa and a frenzy amongst the shades. It may well have been bloodlust on their part, an ardent anticipation in honour of the viscera that was sure to paint the walls red - but Dusa could not help but feel her world closing in on itself as she could do nothing but dread the arduous task of mopping up after them, which was surely to be assigned to her alone. Zagreus, meanwhile, thought that Achilles seemed more hesitant than he had come to expect, allowing the human king to take 3 entire steps before finding the sharpened spear of Achilles at his throat.

“I’d call it suicide, king. But you’re already dead,” warned Achilles in a sympathetic tone as he locked eyes with Theseus. “Please, step back.” 

As Theseus was engaged in a one-sided standoff with the hero of Troy, Cerberus lifted himself off his haunches and circled the two, scattering the crowd of shades to the dark crevices of the House where they belonged almost immediately. This time, its saliva formed rank puddles on the floor. The show, it seemed, was over. Seeing this, Hypnos quickly fell asleep in the corner.

Zagreus was still watching, however. And despite her better judgement, so too was the house hydra. Merely observing would not be enough to understand what was about to unfold in front of them, however. The normal bustle of the goings on within the house had resumed, and it seemed as if Theseus had been cowed, looking dejectedly down at the embossed floor. From where the two sat up on the rafters, they saw Theseus lift his head and open his mouth to address Hades. Whatever words came from his lips were so quiet as to be lost entirely before they could make it to where Zagreus and Dusa sat transfixed. 

The underworld prince tried desperately to read the king’s lips as they moved ever so slowly, spelling out something that made Achilles’ eyes widen in shock and Lord Hades lean forward, as if in disbelief. Before he could try to hurriedly decipher any more, Cerberus’ enormous body blocked his view as it drew closer to Theseus, itself certain of a meal soon to come.

He did not know it then, but if he had been able to read those last few movements of Theseus’ lips, things may have gone very differently when all three of them - the king, the minotaur, and the prince; later found their paths at an intersection from which there was no room for retreat.

**_To boundaries long past, a toast…_ **

The gate which laid at the end of the chamber opened with a mechanical lethargy that suggested to Asterius that it did not, all things considered, receive much use. Tartarus’ atmosphere found itself stirred by the stench of soot and sulphur which rode in on his shoulders as the minotaur entered its last chamber, particles of acrid hellfire finally settling to the floor as the door closed shut behind him. This new place was elaborate, and much like the one he and Theseus had reigned over in Elysium, though notably devoid of any stands or accommodations for spectators. Strangely, it still seemed just as enormous, but this was neither the place nor the time to take in the view. One could infer that this arena, too, had been meant to serve as the final nail in the coffin that was Zagreus’ escape attempt from here. And naturally, it lay in utter ruin.

The identity of the late turnkeys was no real mystery, as their statues lined the room, bathed in an eerie emerald glow which flicked and wavered to imbue each of their forms with a sense that they were themselves not entirely for display. He could not help but wonder which of them had been tasked with the thankless duty of stopping the prince, or whether even their combined might had fallen short. It was a scenario he could easily envision, either way. Asterius, shaking his head, continued onwards. He had no time to ponder further, and had even less in way of sympathy for them. Not unduly, either - the Furies had possessed little sympathy for him when he had been cast down here himself. They could fall to the son of Hades’ blade a thousand times each as far as he was concerned.

This was no time to become subdued by wrathful ghosts, however. His task, his hope, all seemed even more hopeless from where he stood. Tartarus, well, it _towered_. How can something tower when buried so deep as to disappear completely? The answer lay in its construction. Rarely are structures, places of any kind, built for the sole purpose of torment. And certainly none as large as this. But Tartarus, in every cracked and blood-spattered flagstone, in every cavernous chamber and sharpened edge, was a place meant to serve only this aforementioned purpose. Solid stone walls so impossibly dense as if they had been hewn out of bedrock found their surfaces lined with sharp spikes and dancing, malevolent hellfire. All the comforts of Elysium, as illusory as they may have been, had been stripped away to reveal this world’s true nature : that of a subterranean prison, where the trivial punishment and torture inflicted upon mortals on the surface world paled in comparison to a torturous eternity spent trapped beneath the earth, subject to the punishment meted out in gleeful abundance by the Furies forevermore. The underworld prince was truly mad to think escape was an opportunity afforded to even the rulers of this realm. This was a pit, a place for discarded, useless things.

A vast pit, though Asterius would find that he did not have to walk far, all things considered. He knew that once he was able to see the House of Hades, he would find what he was searching for nearby. The bloody currents of the river Styx were no more plentiful than they were there, as they flowed freely into a large pool set within the great hall of the House. It was there that all manner of souls would soon enough find themselves washed up to pick themselves off the river's edge, their clothes hanging heavy from their bones, sodden with thick blood. And since he followed in Zagreus’ wake, he knew that he trod upon the path he needed but to follow.

The prince's devastation had left its bloody mark upon even this most solidly constructed layer of the underworld, no doubt to the displeasure of his lord father. Moreso here than even the fiery plains of Asphodel or his home of Elysium, the devastation was pronounced. Tremendous stone pillars brought low by Zagreus' many escape attempts marked the continuation of his path. The more Asterius saw, the more he understood just how gravely they had underestimated the boy. After what seemed like an unending number of similarly hellish rooms, all of which twisted and contorted themselves in knots around the vast seas of black darkness which separated solid ground from the abyss, he came across a room notably left unscathed. At first, he doubled back, sure he had lost his way somehow. Then, between dancing torchlight and through the gaps in a wrought-iron cage hanging above him, he saw it. The form of the House, the oldest house in the underworld, was seared into his brain. A deep-seated uneasiness churned his empty stomach even as he tore his eyes away from it. It did not do well to regard it for long. There was nowhere else to go - the prince's trail ended here and the room's modest entrance beckoned him deeper within. 

As he stepped inside, he immediately knew that this was it. This had to be the place wherein he would find the Styx's sanguine surface. And there it was, flowing steadily to his immediate right, rocking a peculiar vessel moored to the stone pier. It took only a second for the minotaur to realise he was not alone, and he quickly backstepped, locking his eyes on the room's only other occupant. A hooded creature shrouded in darkness stood forward and to his left, amidst a collection of peculiar treasures arranged almost as if on display. It did not move, nor did it react at all to his presence. 

Asterius moved closer, his dominant hand reaching slowly upwards to the hilt of his axe as the other arm firmly grasped his king. He would cut this creature down and bring his king back before it had a chance to strike, gods be damned. But as he approached, now only feet away from the being, it looked up and spoke to him.

"Mrrrnrnnngggghhhhhhh," grumbled the river boatman, stringing together an incoherent series of guttural noises from beneath his cloak.

Despite the fact that it had looked up to address him, the bull could no more easily see what lay beneath the hood than he could understand the boatman's words. It was now that Asterius realised the extent of his folly as he quickly remembered who this being was. The boat, the wares on display - it all made sense once he shook himself out of the shellshocked state that had overtook him ever since leaving Elysium.

"Charon?" asked Asterius as he released his grip on the axe's shaft, allowing himself to finally snort in derision.

"Grrrnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn," responded Charon in a mocking tone.

The Bull of Minos grunted and promptly turned his back on the boatman to study the river, having no interest in his many wares and now knowing the room to be as close to safe as any room in the underworld could be. Although, to describe his current surroundings as merely another one of Tartarus’ many chambers would be a grave understatement. The entirety of the river Styx flowed past him, rocking Charon's morbidly decorated longboat as it sat idly upon the bloody stream. It was a pier, one of many in the underworld which allowed the Stygian boatman to anchor his vessel and hawk his dubiously sourced wares to the select few who had the coin to pay for them. Asterius himself had not encountered the creature before, but he had certainly heard tales of the boatman and his travels up and down the rivers of the chthonic realm. Charon was not an entity to take lightly despite his appearance, crucial as he was to the underworld's proper functioning. To provoke or attack him was certainly to incur the wrath of some force much greater than oneself. As such, anywhere he set up shop was sure to be free from the squabbles of shades and princes alike. 

On the other side of the pier opposite from the boatman's vessel was a small inlet which possessed a series of shallow stone steps carved down into the Styx. What such a structure allowed for, the bull could not speculate, but he was grateful for its presence nonetheless. Its viscous flow lapped at the well-worn steps, their harsh edges smoothed by millennia of ceaseless erosion. Asterius approached carefully, not wishing to slip and fall carelessly on the dampened stonework. His massive weight would make it hard to ever surface again. Standing at the top of those steps, he stopped. He was finally here. All that remained now was to descend only a few more steps downward and place Theseus beneath the surface.

The river bubbled, its thick viscosity audible for those listening intently. Its sound was different to that of the Lethe. It seemed as if it possessed a vitality, a steadily beating life of its own. He did not know whether the goddess Aphrodite had been genuine when she had imparted her blessing upon him, but he knew that after he placed his king in the Styx, he could do no more. His hands trembled and shook as he took that first step downwards. By the time he stood submerged in the Styx from his waist downwards, his hands steadied, even if the beating of his heart did not. He looked downwards to gaze sorrowfully at his king's pale corpse. He was painfully aware that this could be the last time he was able to even hold onto what small piece of Theseus remained in this world. He closed his eyes and tried to relax his arms, letting the king slip from them gently and into the Styx's body.

But he couldn't. Not like this. He opened his eyes and gasped for air, unaware that he had forgotten to breathe as he had stood there, agonising over saying a final goodbye to his king. He could not let him go so coldly, adrift upon an uncaring stream just like the rest of the wretched souls in this place. No, he would embrace his king until the end. Pulling the king's body close to his chest, he knelt down in the river and held him one last time. He let the king down slowly, the minotaur's right arm still holding onto Theseus' waist. His left arm held the Athenian's head up above the surface. For the minotaur, that was the hardest thing to let go of. To see that beautiful face consumed by a torrent of blood was something he could not do without first saying goodbye. And so it was that he now held his king in his arms not as a loyal companion - but as a lover, as he placed a tender kiss upon the king's forehead, closing his eyes. His heart raced as he did so, its frenzied beating in perfect rhythm with the ebb and flow of the Styx which rushed past the two. By the time he slowly pulled his head back and opened his eyes, the king had been fully submerged, held in place beneath the surface only by the bull's strong arm.

Asterius could do no more but stay here and pray, his desperation far outweighing the spite towards the gods he held in his heart. He prayed to every god he knew, begging them to bring Theseus back to him. But as he knelt by the river, its currents remained uninterrupted by the surfacing of his resurrected king. Instead, the underworld seemed to crawl to a standstill, leaving them both stranded. The minotaur couldn't tear himself away while his king still remained in his arms. All he could do was wait. And wait he did.

Countless whispered prayers and an unknowable amount of time later, Asterius felt his eyelids grow heavy and his arms deaden, his body growing sluggish and struggling to keep even his head above his shoulders. As he sunk his head in exhaustion, he could see the surface of the Styx closer than ever before. It was at this moment that he saw that same surface distort imperceptibly, his eyes now wide open as he felt a disturbance in the bloody water. Before he could process anything more, something breached the surface violently, spraying hot blood into the minotaur's eyes and temporarily blinding him as it dripped down his craggy face. Unwilling to let his king's body go, he blinked to clear his eyes and when he did - he found himself ambushed by a blood-drenched Theseus, whose outstretched arms clung onto Asterius' shoulders as he gasped for air, panting against his torso. Stunned, the bull fell back on the steps and gazed downwards in amazement at the human who now clung to him tightly. Was it really him? From where he sat sprawled on the steps, the true form of the human coughing blood from deep within his lungs was almost unrecognizable. But then Theseus, finding his breath, looked upwards in awe at the minotaur.

"Asterius?" the king whispered hoarsely, the blood falling away from his face and revealing his chiselled features to the beast, who promptly wrapped his arms in a monstrous hug around his love.

"My king. . . I have waited for you . . . all this time," spoke Asterius softly.


End file.
